


Rebels and Thieves

by basilique



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Disney Princesses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Bisexual Moana, Cunnilingus, Dashboard sex, Disney, F/F, F/M, Helicopter sex, Het and Slash, Kidnapped Moana, Kidnapping, Many disney pairings, Moana-centric, Multi, Porn With Plot, Rebellion, Rebels, Rogue Flynn Rider, Spoiled Moana
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-20 19:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basilique/pseuds/basilique
Summary: Moana Waialiki is a spoiled beauty, heiress to her powerful father's huge fortune. When she is kidnapped from the island of Maui and held hostage by a group of rebels and thieves, she quickly learns what the world is really like...and what pleasures it can offer.





	1. One Snap Decision

Moana was insufferably bored. 

She gazed at her own reflection in the tinted window of the car, pouted her full lips a little, sighed. 

Her father had been ages inside of the factory. He was a titan of industry; he owned all of Maui and most of the Pacific Islands besides. It meant that Moana was used to getting whatever she wanted, and getting it immediately. But it also meant that she was sometimes stuck in a hot car, waiting for him to complete factory inspections, while his anxious workers scrambled and tripped over themselves to please him. 

Moana tapped out a few texts on her phone, took a few selfies, and sighed again. She considered trying to make conversation with the chauffeur or the bodyguard in the front seats, but decided against it. Their conversation was pointless and boring. 

Moana's whole life was pointless and boring. She wanted to be somewhere else. Doing anything but _waiting_. 

Moana picked up her phone again, to answer a pointless and boring text. But she was distracted by a sudden loud noise. 

There was a siren going off inside of the factory. 

Moana looked quickly at the bodyguard's face in the rearview mirror of the car, and saw his forehead wrinkle with concern. 

"What is it?" she asked, leaning forward between the front seats. 

"A burglar alarm," he said. "But that can't be. Not in broad daylight like this. No thief would dare..." 

"Well, you had better go and see, hadn't you?" said Moana curtly. "My father is in there." 

"I am under orders not to leave you alone, Miss Waialiki. Your father has his own guards." 

The sound of the burglar alarm was blaring, loud even inside the car. 

"So, what?" Moana demanded. "We just sit here and wait for someone to rob us or hurt my father?" Anxiety was rising inside of her. 

The bodyguard shook his head. "We can't stay here." He turned to the chauffeur. "We'll take her around the block and wait for the danger to pass." 

The chauffeur nodded, and turned the key in the ignition. 

But Moana didn't _want_ to wait. She couldn't bear to _wait_ anymore. Not when there was finally something _interesting_ happening. So before the chauffeur could step on the gas, she threw the back door of the car open, flung herself out into the midday heat, and ran for the factory. 

Later, Moana would remember this as the one quick, impulsive, irrational decision that changed the course of her entire life. And though she paid a steep price for it, she never regretted it in the slightest.


	2. The Rogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moana tries to stop the thieves, and becomes intimately acquainted with Flynn Rider.

The entryway of the factory was elegant, like the lobby of a hotel. The building was a neat, industrial office in the front, and in the back was a workshop, where Mr. Waialiki's engineers developed new aerial technologies for warfare and leisure. 

Moana flung herself through the revolving door, and bolted down the hallway to the right, eager to lose her bodyguard before he could catch up with her and drag her back to the car. 

Red lights flashed in the hallway, beating with the sound of the burgular alarm. It was exciting; she felt as though at any moment she might come face to face with a real criminal. 

If she did, she would not back down. She would fight with fists and teeth for her father's right to his property. Who did these thieves think they were, trying to siphon off a piece of her father's legacy, of _her_ inheritance? 

There was a shout up ahead, a young man's exhaulted call. "Tiana, I've _got_ it!" 

"Good! Go!" A young woman's shout came in response. "Out through the workshop! Quick!" 

A moment later, the young woman dashed into Moana's line of sight at the end of the hallway. Her head turned, and her eyes widened as she spotted Moana. 

"But what about y--?!" the young man started to call, but Tiana yelled over him as Moana charged at her. 

" _Go,_ Aladdin!" 

Moana dived at her, knocking her to the floor, and for a moment the two girls rolled over each other, each trying to pin the other down. Tiana was in her early twenties, as Moana was, and she was strong and wily. But Moana was desperate, and after a few minutes of struggle, she managed to pin the other girl's wrists to the floor with her knees. 

"Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you want?!" But a moment later, she felt someone grab at her back, and she was thrust off of Tiana. 

"John!" Tiana reached up to grasp the forearm of a tall, muscular blond boy, and he swung her to her feet. The two of them were off and running again in a moment without a backward glance at Moana, and Moana dashed after them, furious. 

They were making for the fourth workshop, where her father's engineers were storing models of a new high-efficiency helicopter. The high-security lock system on the door had already been busted, and the door was ajar. Moana raced through it after the thieves. 

The floor of the workshop was covered with helicopter prototypes, at least fifteen seperare models in triplicate. Moana was just in time go see a small one near the middle jerk into life, its propeller spinning with a whir like an insect. It lifted off of the ground, and began to rise toward the ceiling. 

At the same time, the ceiling began to open. All of the workshops had retractable ceilings, so that aircrafts could be tested for height and speed. The ceiling unfolded like a stainless steel flower. 

Moana stood gaping, at the rising aircraft momentarily stunned by the nerve of the thieves. Behind her, Tiana slammed, bolted, and latched the door into the workshop. Nearby, a dark-haired white girl with pretty, intelligent eyebrows was punching numbers on a screen, looking over her shoulder every few seconds to watch the ceiling open at her command. 

The buzzing helicopter, piloted by the boy who must be Aladdin, rose out through the unfolding ceiling into the sky, and took off with a swish of speed toward the West. 

"Belle next!" Tiana yelled, and the girl with the clever eyebrows clicked open the door of a helicopter, clambered into it, and stuck a hairpin into the ignition to rev it up. A moment later it was lifting off of the ground, following the first stolen model. 

"Now John!" Tiana called. And the blond boy was off a moment later, piloting another priceless piece of equipment. 

Moana's wits were starting to come back to her, and a moment later she might have tried to get between Tiana and the next aircraft. But she was distracted, and stunned still again as a boy appeared high above them, scrambling across the roof to the edge of the expanding hole. 

The boy saluted John as John piloted his helicopter out through the hole. The wind from the helicopter ruffled his dark brown hair. And then he propelled himself down on a wire, dropping sixty feet as though it were nothing, and casually unclipped himself from his cable. 

Bon voyage!" He called to Tiana, who was revving up another helicopter to make her own escape, and he pulled a heavy safe out from under his arm and tossed it into the cabin behind her as she lifted off. 

She saluted him as she rose away from the ground. 

Moana knew that she had to move now. She'd already let four thieves escape. This last one was not getting away from her. 

He made for a large helicopter nearby. His walk was graceful, confident, like an alley cat that lived like a king in the streets. 

But he hadn't seen her, and he didn't know that she was on his tail. 

Moana charged into the helicopter ahead of him. She spun around to face him, her chest heaving. All of her shock had turned to anger, and she stood, shaking with it, in front of the controls of the helicopter. 

"Who are you and what makes you think you have the right to steal from my father?" 

He stopped, his mouth opening in surprise. But it only lasted a moment, and he was calm and confident again. 

"My name's Flynn," he said. He took a step up, into the doorway of the helicopter."And it's a long story why I think I have the right. Maybe I can tell it to you over dinner sometime?" 

He raised an eyebrow. 

Moana's heart fluttered. He was devilishly handsome, with a slightly jutting jaw, a long nose, thick brown hair, and a bright, lively gleam in his dark eyes. 

But she wasn't going to let him charm her out of his way. She wasn't going anywhere. 

The police are on their way," she said hautily. "They'll break their way in here easily, and you'll go straight to one of my father's prisons." 

"Well, that might not be so bad." His eyes scanned none too subtly over her body. "Your father seems to do good work." 

Moana's cheeks flushed, in spite of her. He really was obscenely attractive. He was the sort of man who gambled, drank too much in cheap pubs, bet on horses, stole them, rode them, sold them. He was the sort of man who had stowed away and slept on moving trains, snuck into the quarters of duchesses and seduced them, fucked them so well that their interest in stuffy aristocrats was forever ruined. 

Moana felt a sudden intense heat swelling up between her legs. She knew she shouldn't let herself notice it. She had a job to do. 

But perhaps this heat between her legs was just another reason not to let him get away. If he went to one of her father's prisons, she could easily get him out on parole, keep him in her private suite for the night now and then... 

Yes, this thief definitely wasn't going anywhere. 

He took a step closer to her. 

"I think I've heard of you before," he said. "Moana Waialiki. Polynesia's golden girl. Stands to inherit more money than God." 

Another step toward her. His eyes were on her face, bemused, intense. "Now don't you think a girl like that would be worth a healthy ransom?" 

Her heart was speeding up. She was nervous, but he wasn't _frightening_. 

He was _exciting_. He was everything that was missing in her life. 

_And he was close enough to touch now._

"I won't hurt you," he said, "but I'm leaving with this helicopter. So either you get out, or you come with me." 

"I'm not going anywhere." 

She rested her hands firmly behind her on the dashboard. 

"Lucky me." He took one more step forward, and suddenly her face was cupped in his hands, and they were kissing. 

He kissed like a bastard, like a rogue, and she felt all the strength draining from her muscles. 

Her arms wrapped, of their own volition, around his neck, and his rough hands slid around her waist, his calluses tugging a little at the thin fabric of her sun dress. 

Her body melted against his. She pressed closer for more contact, pressed her breasts against his chest, and he responded by pulling her waist closer against him. 

One of his hands ran through her hair; his fingers skimmed down the back of her neck, down the line of her back, and she shivered. He smiled, his thin, carved lips against her full, blooming ones. 

Then he leaned in to kiss her on the neck. She went a little limp, slumping back against the dashboard, and he reached down and grasped her thighs below her ass. 

He lifted her expertly onto the dashboard, her knees spread so that he could stand between them. 

"Let's get out of here, shall we?" he said, pulling a stolen key from his chest pocket and reaching for the ignition. 

There were shouts and sounds of running footsteps in the hallway outside the workshop. Someone-- the bodyguards? The police?-- must have realized where the thieves were. It wouldn't be long now before they managed to break into the room. 

Moana should stop him, she _absolutely_ should. But her pussy was soaking wet and beating with heat. She didn't _want_ to stop him. 

She wanted to let him kidnap and ravish her, fly her away and tie her up and use her for his pleasure, for his ransom. 

So she let him turn the key in the ignition, and while his left hand guided the helicopter off the ground, she guided his right hand down between her legs. 

He slid his rough fingers up her thigh and into her slit, and they both inhaled as he felt how hot and soft she was, how desperate her body was for pleasure. 

There was a banging on the door to the workshop now. She still had time to wrestle him away from the controls, bring them back down to the ground, where the cops would be waiting. 

But then his fingers slid expertly over her clit, and her head fell back. Her body submitted completely to his rough, gentle, filthy touch. 

She moaned, and squirmed on the dashboard with desperate wanting as he slid her sundress further up her thighs. 

And a few moments later, when the cops managed to break down the door and dashed into the workshop, they saw Flynn Rider steering the helicopter out into the open sky, and Moana bound and quivering with pleasure on the dashboard, his roguish face buried in her pussy. 


	3. The Flight

Moana's fingers clutched at the dashboard, her knuckles going white. 

Flynn's face was under her skirt, his hand pulling the narrow strip of her thong aside so that his tongue could slide up and down through her slit. 

With his right hand, he steered the helicopter westerward. His hand on the wheel was steady; he was accustomed to multitasking, it seemed. 

Kidnapping a girl with his face in her pussy was all in a day's work. 

Moana squirmed, her cheeks very hot, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He knew what he was doing. 

His tongue parted her like a sweet peach, pressed flat and beat lightly against her clit. It stroked all the way down to her hole and back up, gave her enough pressure to make her clit spark with it, and she squirmed needily, her thighs hot on either side of his face. 

But Moana was accustomed to getting what she wanted. And when he started teasing her, his tongue flicking just ever-so-lightly over the tip of her clit, she let out a whiny moan that she had never heard herself make before. 

Moana's various booty calls were always tripping over themselves to please her, giving it to her as hard as she wanted. 

But Flynn held back, and it was making her body go mad. She wound her fingers into his hair and pulled him deeper, but he didn't increase his pressure. He just kept flicking lightly at her clit, and running his tongue very lightly up and down the sides of it, until she was moaning and tugging angrily at his hair. 

She wasn't sure whether she wanted more to cum or to throw a tantrum. She just shoved her spoiled pussy against his mouth. 

His hands had come down to grip her shaking thighs, and his fingers dug into them. 

Her hands gripped at the dashboard, his hair, her breasts. 

As the pleasure built, tickling and filthy and irresistible, she grabbed handfuls of her skirt and twisted it, moaning and jerking forward against his tongue. 

He made her get herself off, shoving her clit against his tongue and keening as her thighs shook and her wetness soaked the dashboard.


End file.
